


better

by difranxo



Series: in the bunker [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bunker, F/M, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Love, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/difranxo/pseuds/difranxo
Summary: Abby tries to find her way out of the dark to forgive Marcus.





	better

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Aron Wright’s “Build It Better.”

His eyes fluttered open at the sound of the pipes vibrating against the walls. His hand reaches instinctively across the space next to him. The sheets are cold. He doesn’t know why he expects it to be anything but empty. 

It’s been sixty-three days since the bunker doors closed shut. He knows because Abby keeps count on the wall behind the closet. She thinks he doesn’t know. 

He’s too well aware of how much time has passed since the last time she’d looked at him without anger in her eyes. It makes him feel like the man he was before on the Ark. Except this was worse, much worse. 

She doesn’t speak to him unless it is absolutely necessary. Most of their conversations nowadays gravitated around work, usually in the form of weekly reports. 

He doesn’t play the blame game, doesn’t make her feel guilty for continuing to hurt him in this way. He knows how much she’d been suffering, how much she had been torturing herself for going against her morals trying to find a cure that ended up doing nothing to save the people who were left on the ground to die. 

She wanted to give up, to pay for her sins and he denied her of the one thing she asked for. 

But how could he let her go through with that?

They made a promise to each other that they would do this together. Dying on him simply wasn’t an option. 

There are days where he feels hope draining from his system. But he convinces himself that they’re not broken beyond repair. At least, not yet. 

They share the same quarters and they both sleep on same bed. He told her on the first day that space was limited and it was best to minimize occupancy. He’s surprised when she agrees. 

But whatever anticipation he felt that day soon disappeared when he realized that her compliance for practicality was all she was willing to grant him. 

She keeps to herself on her side of the bed and she’s usually gone by the time he wakes up. The only way he is able to see her is during council meetings and when he turns in for the night. But she’s already fast asleep by then. 

He lets her isolate herself. He doesn’t really know what else to do. He prays that in time, she’ll forgive him. 

Indra likes to stick around in his office from time to time, trying to coax him into talking about Abby. It’s the same conversation every time and today was no different. 

The woman is already waiting inside his office when he arrives. 

“Is she better?”

“I don’t know,” he says, almost automatically. 

He sinks down on the chair, exhaustion already getting the best of him. It’s barely nine in the morning. 

“You need to talk to her, Marcus.”

“She just needs space. She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Indra, I can’t have this conversation again,” he shouts. 

His voice is harsher than he intended and he feels guilt wash over him. But Indra barely reacts, only gives him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. 

“Talk to her before it’s too late.”

He watches her go, a little helpless. He wants to cry and punch the walls until his knuckles bleed. He wants desperately to sink into despair but that would be reckless. His job is to set an example for his people. His show of weakness would only make things worse. 

That night when he slips under the covers next to her, he doesn’t sleep. He lets time pass by as he stares longingly at the ceiling. He counts to a hundred then a thousand until he loses his train of thought and starts again from zero. 

A few hours later, he feels her stir beside him. He immediately closes his eyes, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He feels the weight on her side shift and then her hand on his cheek. _Oh_. 

It was so unexpected. Her hand is so warm and inviting on his skin. He wants to open his eyes but he’s afraid she’ll stop so he doesn’t. Instead, he lets her fingers run through his beard then his hair, her movements slow and gentle. 

He feels her lips on his temple, placing a soft kiss there, and then he hears her voice. 

“I love you.”

Time seems to freeze around him. He barely registers her leave the bed, doesn’t quite hear the door creak open and shut. There’s a chance he hasn’t taken a breath in a while. 

_I love you_. 

Hot tears start streaming down his cheeks. He curls on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest, and for the first time in months, he cries. 

That afternoon, he stops by at the medical bay. It isn’t anything out of the ordinary. He fetches reports from her every Thursday. But there’s something about today that has brought a spring to his step. 

Jackson obviously notices this because the young man gives a him a look that seems hopeful. Everyone knows he is the only one who hasn’t felt most of Abby’s indifference. But he knows it’s not the same as before. 

Her office door is ajar when he turns the corner. She’s craning over an alarmingly thick heap of papers, making last minute scribbles on the margins. The sight brought a smile on his lips. 

“I’m starting to see early symptoms of the flu,” she says suddenly, as if making an excuse for missing her deadline. 

“Which clans?”

“Almost all of them except ours.”

She looks up finally and hands him the reports. He looks down at her messy handwriting. It would be cute if they weren’t written in a concerning shade of red. 

“Do we have the resources we need?”

“We’re still in the middle of an inventory,” she sighs, her hands fidgeting slightly. “It’ll be on the report next week.”

“Okay.”

For an awkward moment, he just stands there looking at her, waiting for something. 

“Did you need anything else?”

He’s struck by disappointment in realizing that nothing has changed. He opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. He leaves quickly, fighting the urge to cry again. 

The next morning, he pretends to sleep again. And like clockwork, she shifts and kisses him on the temple before whispering her love. 

He realizes that this is something she does every day. For the past two weeks, he’d been staying up all night so he could feel her touch and hear her voice in the morning. To compensate for his lack of sleep, he takes a nap during lunch when he knows he’s not needed. 

It’s a good plan, he thinks. Except for the fact that he’d been slipping at work. 

During meetings, he finds himself zoning out, only to have his attention return to him when Jaha kicks him quietly under the table. And just a few days ago, he runs into a wall. He then begs Octavia, who was about to alert medical, to keep quiet about the whole incident. 

A week later, on a Thursday, he falls asleep in his office well into dinner time. He is jolted awake by hand nudging his arm.

“Marcus.”

His pries his eyes open, groggy from too much sleep, or maybe from too little sleep. 

She’s the first thing he sees and he smiles. She’s so beautiful. 

“Abby.”

But she doesn’t reciprocate. Her face contorts into one of concern and he doesn’t complain. It’s better than the blankness she’d been sporting for the past three months. 

“Are you okay?”

Her hand is still on his shoulder and he can’t seem to concentrate, too preoccupied by the fact that Abby is actually giving him the time of day. 

“What?”

“You forgot the reports.” 

He notices the stack of papers on the table where she’d placed them and the gears start to turn inside his head. _Shit_. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Her voice is so soft, almost cooing and he thinks he might still be asleep and this is all some dream. 

She places the back of her hand on his forehead to check his temperature. He uses this opportunity to take her outreached hand in his. 

“Abby, I’m fine.”

Her face is unreadable. He wished that she would say something, yell at him. Anything. 

She lets him hold her hand for a few seconds before prying herself from his grasp. Without another word, she turns to leave and he finds himself alone again. 

He stays up until three in the morning, trying to catch up on his paperwork, before finally deciding to turn in. 

Instead of lying on his back, he turns on his side so that he is facing her. She is turned away from him and he traces the outline of her body. From her head to the gentle dip of her waist. He notices how long her hair has gotten. 

After a while, she moves to face him. He closes his eyes immediately. He doesn’t get it. It’s way too early. Had he really been staring at her for that long?

“Marcus.”

He doesn’t stir, tries very hard not to let her know that he is very much not sleeping. He doesn’t want to miss his window today. It’s all he has keeping him at bay. 

He feels a gentle squeeze on his shoulder.

“I know you’re awake.”

He opens his eyes then. There’s a lump on his throat that is threatening to choke him. He doesn’t know what is happening. But he knows he’s crying. He can feel the salt stinging his eyes and her hands gently wiping away his tears. 

He doesn’t say anything, fearing that he’ll burst this bubble they’re in. But she opens his arms for him in silent invitation. 

“Come here.”

There’s no hesitation in the way he reaches out for her, his arm encircling around her waist to hold her as tight as he can. He cries against her chest and she cradles him, running her fingers through his wild hair. 

“I miss you, Abby,” he croaks, his voice hoarse from the crying. He’s having a hard time catching his breath. “I miss you.”

“Help me be better,” she pleads against his ear. “I want to be better.”

He takes her face in his hands and lets his thumb wipe away the tears that are running down her cheeks. There’s a silent battle in her eyes and he wants to erase them, fight them for her. 

This is why no matter how much she’d hurt him over the past three months, he doesn’t loathe her. How could he when she has been the one who’d been so strong for way too long? When shit hits the fan, he can always count on her to be anchored to her moral compass. 

He spent most of his life guarded, building walls so high that it’s a miracle he was able to escape it at all. He spent years succumbing to his entitlement, excusing his behavior with his duty. 

He remembers his mother, how he had completely neglected her. From her teachings to her undying love for him. She stood by his side all the while he made every effort to stay away. 

So he understands. Really, he does. It’s not a matter of selfishness. It’s about finding her way out of the dark. Try as he might, he knows only she can get herself out of this one. And when she does, he’ll be on the other side welcoming her. 

They bask in the quiet of their room, hearing each other breathe, feeling each other’s heart beats. No more words are exchanged. They just stay like that, locked in an embrace hoping that this is a new leaf turning over. 

And it will be. He will crawl to the ends of the earth for her if it meant getting her back. But it’ll be slow and the road won’t be paved. 

“You do better today than you did yesterday.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for making it this far! Penny for your thoughts?


End file.
